


April and Andy's Fancy Halloween Party

by stillscape



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Halloween AU of "Fancy Party." Originally written for a Halloween tropes challenge over at the L_B livejournal comm; trope: "ominous fog"</p>
            </blockquote>





	April and Andy's Fancy Halloween Party

***

“We’ve been dating for almost a month, so we just decided that we wanted to do something special.”

“And dinner parties do combine two of our favorite things, dinner and parties.”

“Plus it’s Halloween in two days.”

“Yeah, so three of our favorite things. It’s like if you could have a…Xbox pancake.”

“Andy, that’s only two things.”

“Like a…Xbox pancake _in costume_.”

“With blood. A gross, bloody Xbox pancake that freaks everybody out.” 

Andy giggles. “And blood.”

***

Leslie heads down the hallway, ankle-deep in what she guesses is smoke machine fog, thinking about what Halloween costume she might be able to throw together from stuff she already owns, or whether she might need to go shopping on her way home. 

It’s cute, she thinks. They’re young, they’re in love, they want to show it to the world…or they just want to have a really good Halloween party. Who knows with those two? In any case, she remembers all the times she felt young and in love, and even though none of those times ended very well, they were fun while they lasted…

Ben joins her. “Hey. Um, I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Is it about this weird fog in the hallway?”

“Fog?” He looks down. “No. Wait, why is there fog?”

“I don’t know. You might want to stop by Sewage and see if they’re up to anything weird. Are you coming to the party?” 

They chat, easily, about costumes and candy and—and the possibility that Ben might stay in Pawnee? And he wants her advice? _That’s_ not easy to chat about. Leslie swallows, and takes a series of short, uneven breaths, and maintains eye contact, and hopes her eyebrows aren’t as far up as it feels like they might be. 

“Pros and cons list,” she says. “That’s what I would do.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

God, Leslie wishes they weren’t standing in front of the glass case with a raccoon in it. The raccoon, she feels, is judging her. 

Time to change the subject. “So, what are you going to wear to the party?”

Ben shakes his head. “I don’t know. Nothing. I mean, I don’t exactly travel around with a costume.” 

“But what would you be? Superhero, Star Wars, Founding Father…” 

“Any of those would—why, do you have something in mind?” 

***

So this is Pawnee, the best town in Indiana, probably the United States, possibly the world—where, in the span of twenty minutes, you can go from a seemingly ordinary day at work to, in order, a job offer, a very weird conversation with the very cute deputy director of the Parks department in which she might have indicated that you should seriously consider taking the job but wouldn’t say anything directly, to said deputy director’s overstuffed garage. 

In knee-deep fog.

“Here,” Leslie says, triumphantly. She hands him a plastic bag, which he peers inside. “I knew I still had it somewhere. You like Batman, right?” 

Ben thinks of himself more as a Dark Knight kind of guy and not so much an Adam West kind of guy, but a costume is a costume, even if it’s essentially gray pajamas. 

“I do.” 

Leslie grins.

So he’s going to be Batman. In knee-deep fog.

When he’s back in his motel, putting on the gray pajamas, he finds a platinum blonde hair in the hood. 

Was…was _Leslie_ Batman? Not Batgirl, Batman?

She just got cuter. 

***

By the time of Andy and April’s fancy Halloween party, the fog is so dense and thick that Chris feels an extra surge of delight. This will be _exactly_ like pedaling through the dense morning fog on Mont Ventoux!

Though the fog, in addition to being delightfully dense, is also somewhat sticky. Not at all like the air in Provence. 

He finds most of the Parks department hovered around the snack table, and is quick to place his vegetable loaf there…and equally quick to get out of the way, when he finds a scimitar in his face and Ron scowling at him from under an eye patch. 

“Good one, Ron!” Chris enthuses. “That plastic sword is delightfully realistic.” 

“It’s not plastic.” Ron gestures at the vegetable loaf. “So not only does this thing exist, but now you have deprived everyone of cake?”

“Ron, walk away,” Leslie mutters.

Chris scans the room for Ben, wondering if he’s seen Leslie’s costume yet. He’s just going to be so tickled by it. 

And then he goes to find some water, preferably filtered, because the fog—which has now seeped into this delightfully wood-paneled house—has started to make him very thirsty. 

***

Leslie’s trying to kill him.

He can see her from across the crowded living room, arguing with Andy and April—sorry, Zombie Reggie Wayne and Zombie…girl in a white dress—about something. Passionately, judging by—well, one, it’s Leslie, and two, she’s tearing through that pack of Twizzlers with astonishing speed. 

Leslie, who’s wearing a fitted white long-sleeved top that’s mostly unbuttoned, a black vest, a holster with a ray gun in it buckled snugly around her hips, and…he can’t see her lower half through the fog, but black pants and boots, clearly. 

She’s Han Solo. She’s Han Solo, but with adorable pigtails. 

She’s definitely trying to kill him. 

***

The ray guns are apparently not threatening enough, because April’s still insisting that she’s going to go through with it. 

“Look, I know I can’t tell you what to do, from all the times I’ve tried to tell you what to do. But—”

“Leslie, relax,” says April, carefully applying more fake blood to her dress. 

“You relax.” She crams another fun-sized candy bar into her mouth. Is this one Twix or Snickers? Whatever. “You need to go to bed.” 

The bathroom door opens, and Andy’s head pokes in, barely visible over the thick, rolling, delicious fog. 

“Oh, sorry, girl talk. Um, but, um, April? There’s kind of a problem.”

“What?”

“The justice of the peace just called. She’s super lost. Because of the fog.” 

Oh, thank goodness. 

“Andy! Go find her. We have to like…do a search party or something.”

“No, you don’t,” says Leslie, quickly, but everyone ignores her. 

***

Vegetable loaf? Why, Chris wonders, did he bring a vegetable loaf when he had been asked for cake? 

Vegetable loaf is healthier.

But he’s just discovered this box of Hostess cupcakes in the kitchen, and they look very delightful. 

What would Johan Bruyneel do? Chris asks himself. And the answer is, Johan Bruyneel would definitely eat Hostess cupcakes, because quick carbohydrates are excellent at providing quick bursts of energy.

They do make his tongue feel a little funny. 

***

“Madams and mes-soirs. I would like you to do me the honor of paying attention to this statement, which henceforth I am going to talk.” That probably wasn’t right, but eh, this is super important because he really wants to marry April right now and they can’t get married without the justice lady, so as long as everyone’s paying attention to him, they’re good.

“What?” asks Ron. 

“So, you aren’t just at a Halloween party. You’re actually at our wedding. Except the Justice League lady is lost in this fog? Which means we have to split up into teams and find her.” 

***

“Oh, hey,” says Leslie. Casual, she needs to sound casual about this. “So we’re paired up for the search party?” Crap on a Milky Way, it’s hard to read Ben’s face with the Batman cowl on. 

Mercifully, he pushes it back, and she fights the urge to rearrange his hair. 

“Yeah, Tom said something about the dorkiest costumes going together, so…” He shrugs. 

“Tom doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He isn’t even in costume.”

“Tom is a composite of all the best guys from _Ocean’s Twelve_. I asked.” 

Leslie crams another mini Three Musketeers into her mouth, and offers one to Ben, who accepts. 

“Into the fog!” she cries, through the chocolate. Ben follows her into the front yard, into the fog, which is now up to her chin, and so dense she can’t see the ray gun she’s holding in her own hand. 

“I thought you were kind of against this wedding thing.”

“I am. That’s why we have to find the justice first. That way we can keep her away from the house, and keep the wedding from happening.”

“Is that such a good idea?”

Leslie stops. “You said yourself that your Brita filter is older than their relationship.” 

“Yeah, but you can’t...you can’t control how people feel. About each other. You know?” 

***

Ron will not be partnered with Chris, because pirates do not associate with cyclists. Also, because Ron knows where he’s going, and it’s not to find the justice of the peace. It is to cut off this ridiculous fog at its source. 

He will be going over hills and across streams. He will be doing this on foot. He has explained. 

“Ron. Wait up, Ron! If we can just nip by the office, I can pick up my mountain bike. It won’t even ruin my costume! I can be Julien Absalon instead. Ron? What do you think, buddy?”

Ron thinks he’s probably the only person who can save Pawnee.

Not that he cares. 

But damn it, people are idiots. They’re going to try to drive in the fog, and they’re going to crash, and car accidents require ambulances and police reports, both of which waste exorbitant amounts of taxpayer dollars.

He’s going to stop the fog.

***

“Leslie?” He can’t see more than a foot in front of his face, which means he can’t see her at all. And Ben may have stayed in Pawnee for longer than he’s stayed in any other town in the last twelve years, but that doesn’t mean he knows exactly where he is. “Where are you?”

Whereas Leslie knows everything about Pawnee.

So if he’s going to be lost in a marshmallow-scented fog, he’s glad he’s with her.

If he’s even with her. He might not be.

“Over here.”

“I can’t see you.”

“Just follow the sound of my voice.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay. This way. I’m talking, I’m talking…” 

“Are you still walking?” He should have found her by now, he’s sure of it.

“Yes.” 

“Well, maybe you should stop, so I can find you.” 

A tiny hand emerges from the fog, grasping. For him?

This is practical, Ben reminds himself. Not a metaphor. 

His fingers close around hers. 

“There you are,” she says. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

He follows her deeper into the fog. 

***

“This fog’s kind of awesome,” April says. “Even if it’s ruining our wedding.” 

Andy opens his mouth to tell April that he will fight the fog for her—that he’ll fight anything for her, a bear, a lion, some dude—

The fog tastes like Pez.

“It is kind of awesome,” he says, giving the air a tentative lick. 

When he kisses April, she tastes kind of like Pez too, and that’s extremely awesome, that his future wife tastes like candy. Candy and zombie makeup. 

Oh, man, she’s hot. 

They’re totally going to do it against this car, or whatever the cold metal thing is that they’re pressed up against. He can’t see anything at all, but this part is metal and this part is glass, probably the windshield, and now—yep, he’s sitting on the hood of the car with his pants off. 

“April, wait. Was that someone banging from inside the car?”

“I don’t know. It’s Halloween. Maybe the car’s haunted.”

“So should we still, like…do it?” 

“I don’t know. Are you afraid of a poltergeist eating your penis?”

Andy laughs. “No.” At that point, something plastic whacks Andy in the ass. “What was that, though?” He gropes and pulls something off the car. “Oh. I think it’s a windshield wiper.”

“So there’s probably a person in the car, then.” 

Whoops. Also, hilarious. “Does that mean we shouldn’t have sex on it?”

***

“Ron Swanson! There you are!”

“Chris, what the hell?” 

“I found you!” 

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“Where are we going? Are we finding the justice? I think you and I might have different ideas about where she got lost. You know, I know the roads around here very well, from all the running and cycling I do.”

Ron sighs. “ _I_ am going to stop the fog.” 

How Ron winds up going to stop the fog perched on the handlebars of Chris’s mountain bike, he’ll never fully understand. He’ll also never fully understand how Chris is capable of pedaling them both up all these hills. 

He refuses to pay attention to ridiculous explanations of “sugar power.” 

His mustache tastes like Pixie Stix. 

He wishes it tasted more like Mulligan’s. 

*** 

Half an hour later, Leslie decides she’s tired of walking in circles. If they’re even walking in circles. They might not be. And the fog smells like maple syrup now.

Maybe they’re near JJ’s? That would be nice—improbable, but nice. She would very much like to eat waffles while sitting across the booth from…well anyone, because she’s starving, but especially sitting across the booth from the man whose hand she has been holding for a long time now. 

It’s a good hand. 

That sounded weird. 

She stops walking, and Ben stops too. The fog is still so dense she can’t see any part of him, but his forearm is brushing against hers now, and neither of them seems to be doing anything to change that. 

“The fog is getting really confusing,” she mutters. 

“Do you still know where we are?”

Leslie sighs. She hates to admit it, but she has to. “No.” 

“So now what?” 

“Stay,” she tells him. 

“Where are you going to—Leslie, you can’t possibly see anything, the fog is over my head—”

“No, I meant—” Leslie draws another deep breath. Is that what she meant? She thinks that’s what she meant. “You should stay in Pawnee. I mean, what are you going to do, go back to your old job, hacking up people’s budgets?” _Hacking up_ is absolutely not the right choice of words for being lost in a spooky fog. Never mind. “And you’ve made a lot of friends, and…stay here. Help us build something.” 

Her fingers give his a tight squeeze. It’s involuntary, automatic, but she doesn’t want to take it back. 

“I already accepted the job.”

“What?”

“I’m, uh…I’m staying here.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Yeah, I…I think so.” 

He’s staying. Ben’s staying. 

She wants him to know how happy she is, but there’s no way he’ll be able to see her smile through this fog, so she goes a step better, and envelops him in her best hug. 

And, since no one could possibly be watching them, the hug can just go on for as long as she wants it to, right? Right. Unless Ben starts resisting.

He doesn’t. “Leslie.” 

“Yeah?”

“You know—you know why I’m staying in Pawnee, right?” 

“Because of all the reasons I just said. And because it’s the best town in Indiana—”

“Well, yeah, but—you know, there’s one really good reason why it’s the best town in—”

“The people,” she says, automatically. 

Ben hasn’t taken any initiative towards ending this hug yet. This hug, which has definitely gone on much longer than would be appropriate for mere work friends. 

“One in particular.” 

The fog is still so thick she can’t see so much as his chin, but Leslie has a funny feeling that if she tilted her head up just so, Ben’s lips would be in a very strategic location. 

She’s right. 

God, Leslie loves being right. 

***

“High five, buddy!” Chris cannot remember having ever felt so exhilarated. Well, he can. But not recently. He can’t remember having felt so exhilarated by an adventure with his best work friend other than Ben!

Ron doesn’t return the high five, which is disappointing. But, Chris reminds himself, everyone expresses friendship in their own ways. And not even Ron will be able to deny that a cross-Pawnee cycling adventure, culminating in beating on the door of Sweetums’ main factory to loudly protest the sugar pollution—well, really, Ron beating _down_ the door of the totally irresponsibly abandoned factory with his scimitar and somehow knowing exactly which valve to turn to shut off the broken syrup boiler, which Chris is fairly sure is trespassing and he ought to be more concerned about that, but—

“I have to admit, Ron, that while I knew perfectly well how much sugar pollutes the body, I was unaware that a sugar _factory_ could literally pollute an entire town to this degree.” 

Ron grunts. “High fructose corn syrup. Sweetums doesn’t manufacture sugar.” 

“That is even worse. High fructose corn syrup is horrifying.” He pauses to think. 

Wait, has he really been inhaling high fructose corn syrup all this time? Oh, dear.

Ron refuses to ride back to Pawnee on the handlebars, so Chris pedals beside him. Moving so slowly is a delightful challenge. 

“Don’t wait for me,” Ron says.

“Oh, don’t be silly! No, this is great. We have all those miles to discuss what the Pawnee government can do about this problem. I’d like to strategize about imposing stricter environmental regulations on Sweetums in the future—”

Ron emits an extremely odd high-pitched wail, and disappears into some nearby trees at a remarkably swift clip. 

Well. They’ll have plenty of time to discuss it at work tomorrow. 

And maybe it’s for the best that Ron isn’t riding on his handlebars. Now that his blood glucose is dropping—dropping rather rapidly—Chris is starting to feel a bit wobbly. 

To his own horror, he finds himself stopping at the first fast food institution he passes. 

He’s not entirely sure this is food, but it’s the closest source of available protein. 

*** 

The first thing Ben sees when the fog starts clearing is Leslie’s face. Leslie’s beautiful, bright…terrified face. 

That wasn’t what he was hoping for. She’d seemed so enthusiastic, though…

But just before his stomach plunges all the way through the sidewalk, he realizes she isn’t looking directly him. She's looking over his shoulder. 

“Vampire,” she breathes. “Wait. Vampire?” 

Ben doesn’t remember seeing any vampires at the aborted wedding. “Orin’s behind me, isn’t he?” 

Leslie nods. “Run!”

Running away would be easier if they weren’t holding hands again.

He doesn’t care. 

*** 

“Hey guys! We are at Burly’s vacation house, which is awesome.” 

“Oh, also, we got married.” 

“Also, Ludgate here is terrible at water skiing.”

“No, Andy’s terrible at driving the boat. I’m gonna divorce him.” 

After about thirty seconds of watching them make out, Ron slams the computer screen down. “They’re still married. You owe me twenty bucks.”

“No, I don’t,” Leslie protests. “The bet’s off. I didn’t even know they _got_ married. When did they even find the justice of the peace? I never saw her.” 

“Jerry found her,” says Ron. 

Jerry sinks into a heap on his desk. 

“Good work, Jerry!” Leslie tells him. “Wait, you don’t look good. Are you sick?”

“No, I’m not sick. Why does everyone always think I’m sick?”

Donna raises an eyebrow. “Forget Jerry. Did you not read my feed this weekend? I was live tweeting this mess as Tom was telling me. Which involves Jerry.” 

“Leslie, this is the best Jerry story ever,” says Tom, sliding into the next chair. “Check this. Jerry leaves the house, flattens the justice of the peace—”

Jerry lets out a loud _humph_. “I did not flatten her. We just bumped elbows.” 

“Turns out they’re right by his car. Can’t see to get back to the house, so they sit in the car until the fog clears—”

“Except Andy and April find the outside of the car first,” interjects Donna. 

“And bam,” says Tom. “Marriage consummated, in front of witnesses, before the marriage even happened.” 

“No, they didn’t do that, guys,” Jerry protests, weakly. “All I saw was Andy’s, you know…without any pants.” 

Donna smiles. “And then they got married. In the car. With Jerry as a witness.” 

Tom leans back in his chair. “Better check the license. Might not be a legal marriage. Jerry probably Jerried it—wait, Leslie, where are you going?” 

“Hmm? Nowhere,” she says, with a little smile. “I have a lunch meeting with the new assistant city manager.”


End file.
